Purpleluva01's The Bullet Hawk Chronicles, Part 1: Trigger
by Purpleluva01
Summary: My name is Jesse' Boaz. Who am I? I am Pandorian who had lost his wings. I am an noble child who lost his mind. I am the "Bullet Hawk" and this is part of my story.


**_Reptilian-Angel's_**

**_The Bullet Hawk Chronicles_**

**_Part 1:_**

**_Trigger_**

**_By Reptilian-Angel_**

* * *

**Jesse' P.O.V.**

Who am I?

Well, that's a pretty good question to ask.

Only one problem; you're definitely asking the wrong guy.

I have been called many things throughout my twenty-eight years of life.

Prodigy.

Psychopath.

Son.

Abomination.

Friend.

Monster.

Hero.

Bastard.

I'd tell you the rest but the list sort of dwindled to nothing over time.

Not that a freak like me would actually remember.

Then again I'm probably not the freak in the world, am I?

Now if you're going to blame somebody for me becoming a total freak, you should actually just blame me.

Everything just seemed to hell for me when I lost my wings.

Things probably went to hell way before that actually . . .

You know you're coming into the middle of things; so let's go back for _uno momento_ and start over from the very beginning.

So just try and bear with me as I try and retrace my steps. And by steps, I mean my life.

To start off my name is Jesse' Barry Boaz. At least that's the short version. My full name was Jesse' Barrio Montoya Domingo Federico Rosario Juarez de el Boaz. What a page turner, huh?

I am a member of the Pandorian race, which is basically just made of really big bats that can walk, talk, etc.; all the standard human functions.

My name supposedly means "Strong Marksmen" Maybe that's how I would up becoming a bounty hunter part-time . . .

Anyway, my _familia's_ ancestry, as most historical records claim, hails from way over in the Southern Continent which is apparently eight years by surface boat or only eight weeks by submarine.

Personally, I think they're pushing it, but I'm not the boss who brought us over in the first place.

Eventually, I was born to Rosanda Maria and Jose' Roberto Boaz on Barry Island. Mind you, _hermano_, I was not named after the island. I was given the name "Barry" because my Papa wasn't original enough to think of a new name for me.

That was one of the many reasons I grew to hate him over the years.

With the townspeople on the other hand, it was another story.

You see, my _familia_ were _muy importante_ to the citizens of the island. We were named the "Protectors" of Barry Island. The reason why is because a long time ago, a few hundred years at least, the island had been plagued by every sort of trouble you can throw at it. Demons, thieves, pirates, diseases, were-beats, the works. It was literally a "Hell-on-earth" that even people with death-wishes were smart enough not to go to. The inhabitants lived in misery and despair and all that for what seemed like forever, without any hope or faith that things would get better.

That's where Inigo Rodriguez Boaz stepped in.

He, along with a small band of warriors and _Magicz_, just appeared on day completely out of the blue and took the situation into his hands. By which I mean "Declaring war on destruction, misfortune, pain and fear" as the saying goes; and in a matter of weeks, instantly banished all the demons and were-beasts; cured all of the diseases; and drove out all the criminal lowlifes and vagabonds back to the hole they crawled out from.

So naturally, the townspeople revered Inigo and his caravan as heroes sent from _Santa Maria_ herself and, fearful of any future dangers that would come, begged them to stay on the island.

With the promise of free food and services from the humble townsfolk, along with the promises of riches beyond his wildest dreams, Inigo was sold.

Ever since then my _familia_ has lived here for at least several generations. Continuing the "long" and "proud" tradition of protecting Barry Island from the "evils" of the outside world. In return, the townspeople flourished with pride and admiration for the Boaz's family and remain ever grateful. We were idolized for our deeds and acts of good; to them, we were the "God-Sent Legion of Heroes".

Sad to say, I used to believe in that shit too.

Naturally, being a child born into a noble family I had everything I could ever want. All the finest silk and velvet I could wear, all the food I could eat, all the toys and games I wanted and enough room to run around as freely as I wanted.

I've always had the most lavish and important of _fiestas_. Birthday gifts always came by the boatload and anybody who was anybody always made an appearance. Even on other holidays like the Winter Solstice and such, I was spoiled rotten with anything and everything.

When I turned seven, I quickly noticed that my parents weren't around often but as any other naïve child, I never minded. Even though I did notice they always hired a new nanny after a week passed.

In a few times, I did see them they'd always follow the same routine. They would come in on whatever I was doing; studying, getting ready for bed or eating meals, watch me for a few moments hen say with a smile, "Do as you're told, child and one day, you'll become something great."

Behind the pride, I felt at these words, something inside me was always left shaking at that smile.

When I was eight, I found out the reason why.

It had never occurred to me that I was point-blankly considered a level of status. Ironically, I was never supposed to find out, but I did.

My parents and I were attending my cousin's sixteenth birthday and I was told simply to be quiet and behave myself. Wanting to be a good little _Niño_, any other child would want to be for his parents, I obeyed.

I even obeyed when one of my uncles had outright called me a "Walking Money-maker" as he chatted with my father.

At first, I assumed it was good thing by the way my father laughed and agreed with him with a great big smile. But when I looked up at my Mama and saw her saddened face, I knew something was wrong.

My suspicions were confirmed one day when my Mama visited me while I was getting ready for bed. Just she could leave, I simply asked, "Mama, what's a "money-maker"?"

I've never seen her cry so much.

My father never showed that he knew what I had asked Mama but whether he realized it or not; I could definitely pick up the angry glint in his eyes.

Inside of me, everything changed. Outside of me, everything remained the same.

I went to my lessons when ordered to. I smiled when I was supposed to. I stayed quiet when they wanted me to.

That time in my life was like two hands choking the life out of me.

I didn't let that stop me from trying to pull through. I wouldn't let that stop me from keeping up the act in front of the man I knew as "Father".

It ended up becoming a sort of game between us. If I followed the rules from sun up to sun down without needing "Father" to remind me, I won. If "Father" ordered me to say or do something when I was supposed to, I lost.

It went on like that for at least two years, with me in first and father in second.

That was when I blew it.

I had gone for a walk that day when I came across someone. He was a Were-goat kid with the two ridiculously huge horns sticking out of his head and even more ridiculously gelled back hair. He was dressed in a silk shirt that was three sizes too small so his stomach stuck right out and satin pants with _estúpido_ frills on the bottom of the sleeves. He seemed to walk with a precocious pride and had a wierd "Fu-Man-Chu" air about him. An incribly bad one judging by his haughty grin and smugful glint in his eyes.

I immediately kew that this _Niño_ was an idiot.

His voice wasn't any better unfortunately when he suddenly belted in an annoyingly high pitched voice, "Hey, you! What are you looking at?"

Obiviously the idiot was talking to me. But that didn't mean I had to answer back. So I just crossed my arms and remained silent.

"Answer me when I talking to you! Don't you know who I am?"

Why the hell should I care? The kid was an idiot. Simple as that.

"Clearly, my most awe-inspiring presence is too much for you and you're so stunned you can't even speak! That must be it, why I bet you even –"

By now, I had simply walked past him and began to go my own way.

"Hey!" The idiot said from behind me, finally noticing that I was gone. From afar I heard him stomp his hoof childishly as he squeaked. "Come back here! I'm not through with you yet!"

Like he actually started anything in the first place. Idiot.

"Stop! I command you to stop!"

I rolled my eyes at his pompous tone. If he was thinking I was his servant or something, he was even stupider then I thought.

"Don't walk away from me, you bastard! I am of nobility! So when I say "stop", you stop!"

Obiviously the kid was dropped on his head one too many times as a baby. I flattened my ears to my head in response.

Maybe now that goat brain would finally take a hit and take a –

_Clop, clop, clop!_

My ears shot up in alertness. I swiftly ducked just as a small dagger stabbed the air where my head had just been.

'Where the hell did that kid get that knife?!' My mind exclaimed as I once again dodged to avoid the dagger from digging into my chest.

As I continued to try and avoid the blade, I took a quick glance at the goat. The kid had desperate-looking anger on his eyes and an arrogant frown on his face as he continued swing blindly at me. Judging by his sloppy style and horrible grip on the knife, I easily drew two conclusions. This kid was all talk and no bite.

That was when I got careless.

_RIPPP!_

"IEE-!" I hollered as I felt the tip of the knife suddenly rip through the front of that shirt; leaving a huge tear that exposed my lower chest and belly. Shocked, I fell on my back onto the sidewalk.

Did that kid seriously just try to kill me?

"Ha!" The goat boy chuckled unconvincingly as he waved his knife at me in a threatening manner. "Serves you right, you maggot! If you think that's embarrassing, just you wait and see what happens when my bodyguards get a hold of you . . ."

I didn't hear the rest of what he was saying as I stared stupidly at the rip in my shirt.

After a moment or two, my mind snapped with thoughts I never even knew I had.

What the hell was wrong with that kid?

What the hell was wrong with my father?

What the hell was wrong with the people on this island?

In this world?

Where people were used like toys and thrown away when they were no longer useful?

Where being of nobility gives you the right to hurt other people?

Where a great hero's legacy is twisted into someone's excuse for being a tyrant?

Where everyone is born into their own living hell?

"_AAAUGH!_"

My thoughts shattered at the sound of that scream.

The next thing I knew, I was staring at the bloodied and badly bruised face of the goat kid. His knife lay shattered a few feet from us as he sniffed and blubbered weakly, "P-p-p-please, l-l-l-let me g-g-go, I-I-I-I don't w-w-want to d-d-d-die . . ."

I felt a few places that were warm and wet on my fur. I slowly put a hand to my face, pulled it back and stared at my palm with wide confused eyes.

Is that blood?

"Jesse'! What are you doing?!"

I felt myself suddenly being yanked by the back of my collar and thrown onto the ground. I heard the kid cry loudly as he scrambled onto his hooves and run over to who I'm assumed were his parents.

When I caught a glimpse of the parents, my blood ran cold.

They were wearing the _Azul y verde_ colors of the Naman family; one of the most important families in the Southern Continent.

What the hell were they doing here?

Why didn't anybody tell me that they were coming –

My heart stopped when I remembered Father's words that morning. _"Remember to be on your best behavior today, Mi Niño. Today, all of our lives could change forever."_

He was talking about the meeting with the Namans.

The meeting was going to be about returning to the Southern Continent.

And I just blew it.

Royally.

Getting back on my feet meekly as my mind fluttered like a mockingbird's wings, I turned to my Father who was haggardly trying to apologize to the Namans.

Maybe if I tried to explain what happened . . .

I reached out with a trembling hand towards my Father's coat and tugged at it slightly as I tried to talk. For some reason, my words got all mixed up and my explanation tumbled out of my mouth with no way of stopping it, "Father, P-Papa, p-please, P-papa, I can explain! I-I-I s-s-swear I h-have n-n-no idea w-what just happened; the-the k-kid just started t-t-o talk and then I-I had h-him on his b-back! I-I don't know w-w-why I did it, I s-swear!"

Why was I calling him "Papa"?

Father was silent and was still. Not once did he turn around to face me.

"I-I just lost it; I swear I didn't mean for it to happen! P-please, Papa!"

The goat kid and the Namans looked down at me and Father impassively and arrogantly. The goat kid still sniffling and his parents sniffing in disgust.

It was like they were judging us.

But I ignored it as I tugged at my Father's coat more urgently. "Papa, I swear I didn't mean to hurt anybody! I didn't mean to hurt anybody! I didn't mean to do it! _Por favor, papá, decirme que creéis!_"

I could feel him trembling lightly from underneath my small hands. Was he just as scared as I was for once? Would he finally listen to me? I thought hopefully.

That was when he smacked me.

_SMACK!_

I hit the ground once again. The side of my face stinging with pain. But my mind was too busy reeling with shock to notice. I slowly put a hand to my cheek once again out of pure shock.

He hit me.

He just hit me.

The man I called "Father" just me.

I honestly don't remember why I was so shocked. I always had the impression that he hated my guts ever since I made Mama cry. I guess it was because I was always a "Good little _Niño_" and never had actually been hit like that by his Papa before.

But the ma I looked up at wasn't my father.

All I saw was a full grown adult with nothing but searing anger and burning hate in his eyes.

The same brown eyes I inherited from him.

That thought sickened me more than anything else in my life.

For several moments, he and I held that stare in solid silence. Finally, Fa- No, screw that, that Bastard broke it by quickly straightening out his coat, turning his back to me and smiling tiredly to the Namans, "_Senor and Senora _Naman, I apologize for this boy for what he did to your son. I humbly beg for your forgiveness . . ."

This boy?

This boy?

Don't you mean "Your Son"?

The son you gave birth to?

The son you raised to be your puppet?

The son you suddenly just left in the dirt?

Everything suddenly flooded in on me at once. The sound of that Bastard's voice turned to nothing but a low muffle and the sting of my face faded into numbness. I couldn't even focus on who I was looking at anymore.

To put it simply, everything in me felt like it was dying. All my anger, my depression . . . . All of my thoughts just went blank.

All except for one thought.

Run.

Run.

Get the hell away from there.

Run now!

So I did just that.

I quickly scrambled to my feet and just started sprinting down the sidewalk.

I didn't know where to go. I didn't know what I had to do. All I knew was that I had to leave now.

I wasn't sure if anyone was calling for me to come back or if anyone was trying to catch me. My thoughts were so screwed up I couldn't even think straight.

At that point, I didn't care about anything that would have happened.

The only thing that repeated itself over and over in my mind was that it was over.

Everything was over.

I was done.

I could never go back now.

I would never be treated like royalty again.

I would never experience the finer things in life again.

I would never see my Mama again.

I would have nothing to go back to.

The Bastard I once knew as "Father" would see to that personally.

Okay, at this point, you would think that the story's over; with me running away to nowhere in particular and that bastard hating me and wishing for my death until the day he bites it.

Hate to say it, but from there it just got from bad to worse.

Way worse.

I really don't remember much of what happened around me as I was running but I do remember looking up and suddenly finding myself somewhere along the edges of town and near the coastline with my legs burning with pain.

Given normal circumstances, I would've used my common sense and just flown away instead of running away, but as I recall telling you; my life had just gone to hell.

Suddenly running into something large and heavy and stinking of sea salt and dead fish sure didn't help anything.

Feeling something dull jab into my ribcage, I felt the air go out of me in "Whoosh!" before I fell right on my _culo_ onto the sand.

"Hey! Watch it, you Little runt!" A gruff voice above me snarled.

In response, I jumped back to my feet and sent a fist straight into his noise out of pure anger.

That was when I realized that it actually wasn't his nose I punched.

It was a snout.

More specifically, a were-shark snout.

That was also when I noticed the three other were-sharks that were with him.

Point-blankly, I was royally screwed.

But I guess that part was sort of my fault, huh?

The next instant, I found myself pinned to the ground by my throat and arms with sharp claws digging into my fur and skin.

I felt my heart lurch in fear as I saw at least over five hundred white teeth gleaming down at me. I could practically smell the hunger coming off of them as I saw the drool drip from their mouths and onto my face. I struggled to get free but all they did was just laugh like it was a joke and snapped their teeth threateningly at me.

Needless to say, I knew I was screwed.

These guys were packing enough muscle to have a whole cartful of logs over their heads if they wanted to and I was still just a scrawny _bajo_ who was still trying to figure out how to fly.

Though to them, I probably looked like a southern appetizer ready to be picked clean.

But that didn't mean I had to show it.

I hollered and cursed in both English and Spanish towards them as I demanded that they let me go. I kind of remember making some thoughtful observations about their personal hygiene which was answered by a fist to the eye.

The Were-shark whose nose I punched glowered down at me with anger in his blackish-green eyes.

For a second, I saw that Bastard standing in his place but in the next, he was gone and the Were-Shark was there again. And, _buen señor_, did he look pissed.

"You got some nerve, you little flying rat." He said with a grunt towards me. "You rudely interrupt us while we're having lunch and then attack me for no good reason! Just for that, I oughta skin you up right now and roast you alive."

I caught a quick glimpse of the small firepit behind him and winced at the foul smell of burnt flesh and bones.

Talk about smokey remains.

I was trying to keep myself from puking when the Were-Shark raised one of feet and stomped down on me hard, easily cracking at least my entire ribcage. I choked on both the spit and vile crawling up on my throat as the other Were-Sharks chuckled stupidly from around me.

Made brave by pain and annoyance, I said the absolute most stupidest thing in my life, "What are you waiting for then? Go head and do it!"

The Were-Shark didn't speak for a moment. I tried to stare him down but that was just a little bit hard considering I was flat on my back and had three other Sharks ready to rip me up into pieces hovering only inches above me.

If you're thinking that was bad, wait'll you hear this part, _amigo_.

A very cruel smile suddenly broke out on his snout. A smile that made me very nervous. "Nah, you're too scrawny to eat. There's barely enough of you for all of us."

Despite that good news, I still had a bad feeling that was starting to make my fur stick up.

That was when he said it.

"So . . . How about we take your wings?"

My eyes went wide in fear.

He wasn't serious.

He couldn't be serious.

He can't be serious.

That was when he pulled out the sword.

The blade was incredibly Sharp and wickedly curved, measuring at least six feet in length and three inches in width. The Were-Shark smiled spitefully as he turned the blade over in his hands and pointed the tip down towards my wrists.

I could practically feel my pupils shrink to the size of pins in horror.

He was dead serious.

And I was powerless to stop him.

What happened next makes me wish that everything went black. But it didn't.

I can only remember a few brief glimpses from what happened.

_Bones cracking like twigs._

_Blood spewing everywhere._

_Me screaming in agony._

_The Sharks roaring in laughter._

_Pain searing through my arms._

To this day, I still can't recall the memories without losing control of myself.

Finally for what seemed like forever, the torture stopped.

But the blood wouldn't stop flowing onto the sand.

My blood gathered in a pool around me.

My wings were gone.

I heard the Sharks wooping with delight at the sight of my pathetic form.

My wings were gone.

The Were-Shark held up a hand and Brown leathery flaps of skin dangled from his claws.

My wings were gone.

And he had taken them.

I wanted to take my claw and rip his eyes out.

But I couldn't.

I wanted to scream a curse upon the Sharks.

But I couldn't.

I wanted to dod something to show my anger.

But I couldn't.

My body had gone completely numb.

I couldn't even feel it when one of the Sharks grabbed my throat and head in a neck-breaking position.

What could I do?

Nothing that's what.

Absolutely nothing I did would stop the bloodlust in that Shark's eyes.

But as it turns out I didn't have to do anything.

_THWAP!_

The Were-Shark had slapped me out of the beast's hands at an instant and I limply fell back onto the ground with a light splash into the blood-made pool.

"You idots!" I heard the Were-Shark growl when the other grunted in confusión. "I just said he ain't worth eating. All that crippled piece of trash will give you is a bad case of indigestión."

That crippled piece of trash?

Was that what he had just said?

That crippled piece of trash who you just made a boy into?

Helpless, bleeding to death out on the beach alone?

I felt something wet and warm run down my face and melt into my fur.

More blood?

Was I bleeding from the eyes too?

No, wait.

They were tears.

I was crying.

How pathetic.

The Were-Shark saw this and gave a Sharp "Tch!" towards me. "Maybe this'll teach you to know your place, rat boy."

With that, he literally spat on me and began to walk away.

The others looked like they wanted to grab a bite out of me but they decided to leave me be before they began slowly trotting to catch up with the Were-Shark.

Before he got too far, just to spite me, he chuckled cruelly, "Enjoy the walk to the afterlife, boy!"

Twirling my former wings around his claws one last time, the Were-Sharks disappeared down the coast.

I was alone.

Alone and wingless.

For the second time that day my mind had gone blank. I stared at my reflection in the blood puddle as my mind turned on and off.

Frankly it was amazing I was still alive after bleeding so much.

I was amazing I was still thinking at all.

I was at a complete stand-still.

I just lost my wings.

I couldn't fly anymore.

And I had no idea what to do.

What could I do?

Where could I go?

Who could I turn to?

My parents' faces flashed through my mind.

As did the memory of that Bastard slapping me.

At that point, I had two choices.

Either stay there on the beach until I die or wait for some other Were-beast to come and snatch me up for his lunch.

Or I could get up, that is if my body could still do that, return to my parents' estate and beg for their forgiveness.

Even if it meant swallowing my pride and becoming his puppet again.

I don't even remember getting up when I found myself limping through the streets.

I weakly crossed my arms so my hands were pressed into my armpits to keep people from staring at the scissored leather bits underneath them.

That didn't stop the small trail of blood that I left behind me with each step.

Even though the people around me were whispering my ears easily picked up everything they said.

"_Isn't that the Boaz boy?_"

"_What do you think happened to him?_"

"_He can't be of the Boazs, look at him! So dirty and bloody . . ._"

"_If he's not a Boaz then who is he?_"

"_Probably just some peasant passing through._"

I allowed myself a small spiteful smile.

I would've loved seeing their faces if they knew it was me.

Eventually, I found myself at the front doors of my _Familia's _estate.

I looked at the door before sighing heavily, making my ribs ache.

Might as well go on and get this over with.

With that, I weakly raised a blood-covered hand, spilling a few drops on the ground and numbly knocked on the door.

Almost instantly, the doors swung open and revealed the smiling face of my nanny. A tiny little _gringa_ of a white and brown spotted Were-dog with a sparkling smile who I often remembered calling me "_Bahbuska_". Whatever the world that was.

She also made excellent _Galletas de azucar_.

"Hello, welcome to –" She began but fell short when saw me. She then launched a very high-pitched squeal that made my ears ring. "Master Jesse', what happened?! You're so hurt!"

Hoping she wouldn't notice my arms, I quickly said, "I'll explain later, Natalya. I need to talk to my father. Is he here?"

Natalya nodded fervently and quickly said, "Yes, yes, he's in the drawing room. I'll take you to him, _Bahbuska_." Before she hurried me inside the house.

I knew the way to the drawing room, obiviously, and I thought of telling her that. But after the crappy day I was having and with the warm hand on my shoulder guiding me, I silently thanked _Santa Maria _for the small gesture of comfort.

I only wish she could've prevented what had happened after Natalya had brought before my parents.

My Mama was sitting in a chair with a book in her hands and Father was standing at the window when Natalya announced my presence.

Father siletly glared at me for a few moments. Then, without looking at Natalya, he ordered "Go." In a low tone.

I caught her slightly worried look towards me as she hurried out of the room.

Now that I think about it. I'm actually kind of glad she didn't stay.

Unlike most fathers, instead of asking where I have been in concern, he simply scrunched his nose at the sight of my bloody arms and dirty, gritty clothes.

He was Probably only worrying about how dirty I was making his clean floors.

I've never seen my Mama look so nervous.

The piercing stare of my father made me chilled to the bone but I refused to let fear take over me. Gathering up my courage, I began talking with a shaky breath, "F-Father . . . I know you're still angry with me for what happened this afternoon and I have no excuses for what I did to the Naman's son. I don't expect you to forgive me for that." I paused to let this sink in for a moment.

My father didn't respond but I did see his fist clench. I knew he was restraining the urge to beat me senseless.

" . . ._ Pero por favor_ Papa, you have to help me." I choked out before I weakly raised my arms.

My Mama sharply inhaled and my Father's eyes went up in shock at my arms. I could hear the blood slowly drip on the floor in the piercing silence.

"What happened to you?" My father asked, his eyes never leaving my arms.

Those words gave me another sense of hope. Was he actually beginning to care?

"Were-Sharks, Papa." I said with a waver to my voice. "I bumped into a few at the coast and they attacked me . . ." After a moment or two, I added, "But technically I punched one of them first, so I guess it was my fault . . ."

That was when my father's hands started to twitch.

". . . Anyway, I thought they were going to eat me but one of them suddenly said I was too small to eat; so the next thing I know he pulled out his sword and . . . Well, this happened." I tucked my arms in again as I looked away for a moment to let my Mama and Father process this.

My Mama looked like she was about to faint as to my father who was tightly clenching his fists so hard I could swear they had started bleeding as well.

Looking back at them, I began to say, "I know I've done you both a great wrong and I am sorry for that. But please, _Madre y Padre_, I really need your help this time!" Stepping forward imploringly towards them, I continued, "I know I'll never be able to fly again but I can live with that. I've always done everything you've asked me to, I've followed your orders all my life. More then that, I'm your child. Your son! Surely, you can see it in your hearts to –"

"Silence, mongrel."

Those words stopped me cold.

Mongrel?

Did he mean me?

". . . What?"

"You heard me, _monstruo_." My Father said gruffly.

What the Bastard said next confirmed everything.

"_La Boaz Familia _have been proclaimed for years for our bravery and courage; Ever since Inigo Rodríguez Boaz first set foot on this isle. We have never once backed down from a fight! We have never once surrendered! Yet, here you are! Groveling like a common dog asking for our help!"

Was he being for real?

"So what if you were attacked by beastmen?! So what if you were bleeding to death with nothing else to give?! _Por el amor de Santa Maria_, none of that changes the fact that you _never_ back down from a fight! **_Nunca_**! I know that my son would never act that way! The way of a coward!"

Please don't say it . . .

"You are not my son! You are an abonomation that deserves to die!"

I was then face-to-face with the Barrel of _Soul_. The barrel of my Father's pistol.

Everything got blurry after that.

My Mama screaming.

My arms burning in pain.

My father's cursing as I knock him to the ground.

The gun clattering to the floor.

Was all this for real? Really real?

This was seriously happening to me?

My father punches me across the mouth. I fall to the floor . . .

Why did everything come to this?

I see the gun. I quickly reach out and grab it . . .

I had just lost everything.

I knock the magazine of the gun into his jaw. He falls to the ground in a shout . . .

All . . . Because . . . Of _him_ . . .

I raise my arm. The barrel's aimed at his head . . .

Now it will be over.

I pull the trigger.

**_BANG!_**

"**_AIEEEE!_**"

I blinked. My father's lifeless eyes stare aimlessly back at me.

His brains covered the floor and window while his blood caked his fur. I looked at my hands and saw his blood all over them too. I look up and saw my Mama staring at me in pure, absolute horror.

Reality hit me like a hammer.

I just killed my Father.

I shoot out of the room, avoiding the coming Island Guards and ignoring my Mama's shouts for me to return . . .

I just killed my Father.

I just shot the Bastard dead.

I race through the streets. I clutch the gun tightly in my hand as I run to the sub-docks . . .

My Father was dead.

I feel everything slip away to a white blank. Menaingless tears run down my face as I dumbly sit up against the sub wall . . .

My Father was dead.

I wait silently. I feel the wall shift as the sub begins to dive into the sea . . .

Everything was over. I shut my eyes. Only three things go through my mind.

A shout. A face. A shot.

I just killed my Father.

My father was dead.

I just discovered a living hell.

**_To Be_**

**_Continued . . ._**


End file.
